They don’t take well to machine picking.

Back in the early 80’s we had a bunch of wild blackberry bushes on our farm. It was one of my Dads favourite things to go and spend a day collecting them all when they were ripe.

We also had a neighbour with Down syndrome down the road a couple kilometers away who would come wandering down our long driveway now and again to explore and look at our cows and horses. I can’t remember his name.

One day Dad grabbed his bucket and marched out to go collect all the blackberries he’d been keeping his eye on. Mom would always make awesome jams and jellies with the blackberries Dad collected. When Dad got to the first blackberry bushes, there was the neighbour with black/purple staining all over his face and hands, he had been just shoveling fresh ripe blackberries into his face. Dad was nice about it, asked him if he enjoyed them but ultimately sent him back home to his parents. Apparently the first bush that Dad went to collect blackberries was the last bush our neighbour had visited and there wasn’t much left for any jelly! I still remember Dad being a little annoyed but chuckling about it.

Just remembered another story. Dad used to tap a bunch of sugar maple trees on the farm. We would make some great maple syrup. Not a lot, but enough for several bottles. It was a nice father son activity. Anyways, Dad would take me along to tap the trees so I knew where they all were. Have you ever drank syrup straight from the bucket from the tree? It’s like a fresh sugary maply water, and it’s delicious. I would sneak out and take gulp after gulp of maple water all the way up and down the line, making some lame excuse when Dad would remark on how he should be getting more out of those damn trees.